The Invisible Bride. [Edwin Markham]

The low-voiced girls that go In gardens of the Lord, Like flowers of the field they grow In sisterly accord.

Their whispering feet are white Along the leafy ways; They go in whirls of light Too beautiful for praise.

And in their band forsooth Is one to set me free -- The one that touched my youth -- The one God gave to me.

She kindles the desire Whereby the gods survive -- The white ideal fire That keeps my soul alive.

Now at the wondrous hour, She leaves her star supreme, And comes in the night's still power, To touch me with a dream.

Sibyl of mystery On roads unknown to men, Softly she comes to me, And goes to God again.